


Pantheon

by inkstrain (orphan_account)



Category: the GazettE
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/inkstrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things that become stronger the more others want it to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pantheon

He knows Aoi's chain smoking right now, can imagine the smoke from his menthols swirling upward from those frowning lips to paint the ceiling with flimsy, frame-less pictures. He'll be fuming, angry at the world and wishing he can broadcast his feelings on Twitter, and knowing he can't will make him even more furious. That's all he's allowed to be though, thirty-something with a child's tantrum and a dead man's lungs.

  


_"It's getting out of hand," Their manager says carefully, avoiding Aoi's glare and talking directly to Uruha instead, because between the two he's the one less likely to lose his temper. "That, and the label's just being careful. They don't want the company to appear as if it's supporting the LGBT community."_

_Uruha's hand is already extended sideward to stop the advance even before it's made, having anticipated Aoi's reaction. Muttering a 'calm the fuck down' to the dark-haired man, he turns to their manager again who has taken a wary step back, giving him a polite bow._

_"We understand and we won't cause any problems."_

  


He's drinking again, meanwhile. He hasn't missed the buzz he gets from liquor and would rather do without, but this is all he can think of to get numb. With his bedroom's walls made of speakers, or at least that's how it seems like with the pounding music so loud, he drowns. And that too, is the only thing he's allowed to do at the moment, the rebellious teenager-wannabe that he is who once felt like there's nothing to lose. 

But that was before, when he didn't have _everything_ in his grasp.

  


_"This isn't right," Aoi whispers through gritted teeth, his pack of Marlboros crumpling in his tightening fist as they watch their manager walk away. "They can't tell us what to fucking do!"_

_Uruha only laughs bitterly, eyes broken when they meet the other's hate-lined gaze. "That's not what our contract says, Aoi."_

  


He realizes his phone has been ringing when the song that he's been playing finally comes to a close. Reaching for the device with uncoordinated limbs, he isn't able to answer the current call, sees this isn't the first time someone's been trying to reach him. 

_Twenty seven missed calls_ , it says.

He shuts his player off from his position in front of it, splayed on the floor with glassy eyes staring at the equalizer effects and waiting for his phone to ring again. When it does, he answers without looking or speaking, and smiles at the voice on the other end. 

"What the fuck?! I've been calling you nonstop!" Aoi's voice is hoarse from smoking to death and (maybe) talking to himself, his annoyance touchable even through subtle static. "Have you been sleeping? Do you do _anything else_ during our off days aside from sleep?"

But the real question there is - _after what happened how can you even sleep?_

He hums in response, crawling towards the end of his bed but too lazy to stand and actually lie on it. So he turns around and settles the back of his head atop the covers instead, phone on speaker mode and vodka bottle in hand, answering in a semi-slur with an affection he reserves only on special days. 

"Stop thinking about me and do something useful, Aoi." He teases lightly, taking a swig and rendering the man on the other line speechless. He chuckles when there isn't an immediate response, adding: "Be more like your boyfriend. _I'm_ doing something useful."

There's a sigh and the sound of the flick of a lighter, an inhale and exhale of breath. "Fuck, you're drinking," Aoi states, anger dampened. "How the hell is that useful?" And he chuckles again, free hand tracing the carpet underneath his fingertips. 

"Silly. I'm drinking while doing the useful thing." He whispers secretively. "You wanna know what it is?" He can see Aoi rolling his eyes just by his voice alone. "Okay, what is it?" He asks in a terribly bored tone, still puffing out smoke from the sound of it, and Uruha bites his lower lip almost shyly because he hasn't admitted this, not in a long time. 

"I'm missing you."

There's a stunned pause on the other end, and then it's broken by a badly supressed snort as Aoi _laughs_. It may or may not be a giggle, but it's definitely an unmanly sound, making the confession worth it. 

"Uruha," Aoi gasps, still laughing in between, and he can imagine those dark eyes sparkling with amusement. _Definitely worth it._ "Wow, just _wow_. You're a sap and I should get you drunk more often." 

He closes his eyes and hums again, taking another swig of vodka and burning his throat with liquor. "Improved your mood, didn't it." He says with a chuckle, to an answering hum on the other end, and Aoi is smiling; he can _feel_ it in the same way the vodka simmers in his bones as he speaks.

"I don't care what management told us not to do," The sound of car keys jingling on the other end is loud and obvious. "I'm going to go see you right now."

He straightens immediately, a warning in his voice. "Aoi-" He starts, but the older man only has four words to say to him before he hangs up. 

"Live a little, Kouyou."

  


..

When Uruha opens the door to his apartment, he narrows his eyes at the person standing on his doorstep. Wait, isn't Aoi supposed to be the one coming over?

"Akira?" 

The hooded figure by the door chuckles before lifting its head, giving him a view of a completely different face. And Uruha's heart starts a mini riot in his chest when a familiar smirk is directed at him full force, making his drunken haze disappear. 

"If _you_ thought I was him," Aoi says in a low voice, pushing him indoors hurriedly and shutting the door behind them. "Then _everyone else_ would have, too."

And he's the one laughing this time - he can't help himself. "So you thought it would be a great idea to cosplay Reita?" He asks, trying to muffle his giggles with a hand rather unsuccessfully. 

Aoi has brushed his hoodie back and removing the jacket he'd worn over a simple shirt, shrugging as his smirk softens into a smile. 

"Well, we wouldn't want my boyfriend to drink to death, just because..." He closes the distance between them, face hovering over his as their eyes meet, and in his partly inebriated state Uruha wants to do nothing but to make love to Aoi right then and there. "He's missing me."

But he doesn't pounce on the rhythm guitarist like his body is telling him to do. Instead, he lifts his hands and encompasses Aoi's cheeks with his palms, callused fingers tracing the bags under those warm brown eyes that have only looked at him with nothing but adoration the past thirteen years. 

"What would I do without you?" He asks gently, softly, before closing the distance between their mouths and giving the dark-haired man before him a loving kiss. And Aoi is serious when he speaks, his voice slightly muffled by Uruha's slow-moving lips. 

"You'd be perfectly all right, Kouyou." He murmurs, before pulling away and bringing a hand up to push locks of hair behind his ear. "Me without you would be a different story though."

Uruha takes that raised hand in his and tugs him towards the bedroom. "Like that's going to happen Yuu." He whispers, smile wide and beautiful and _daring_. "Now come here and make me stop missing you."

  


Outside, the world is oblivious as they fall sideways on the sheets, lips only parting for important things like air. Immortal in each other's arms with the rest of Tokyo muted by creme-colored walls and thick drapes, the city noise drowned by hot breaths and quiet pleas of _just a little bit more._

And in the pinnacle, sheets bunched by fists and moans broken by gasps, they can only whisper unspoken promises, looking in each other's eyes and shredded to pieces by more than just pleasure of the flesh-

  


_No matter what the world says, I'll always be in love with you._


End file.
